


The Bard and The Blade

by IrohsTeacups



Category: The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher (Video Game), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Angst, Blood, Chaotic Good, Drunk Witchers (The Witcher), F/M, Falling In Love, Fluff, Gore, Language, Magic, Music, Mutual Pining, Oral Sex, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Protective Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Protective Jaskier | Dandelion, Protective Witchers (The Witcher), Romance, Sharing Clothes, Sharing a Bed, Sharing a Room, Smut, Soft Jaskier | Dandelion, Soft Witchers (The Witcher), Swordfighting, Top Jaskier | Dandelion, Touch-Starved, Vaginal Sex, Violence, hurt reader, idiot and her idiot boyfriend, x Reader
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-20
Updated: 2021-01-20
Packaged: 2021-03-12 01:33:44
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,187
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28877259
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/IrohsTeacups/pseuds/IrohsTeacups
Summary: Harbingers, like witchers, are monster slayers. The legends say that if you hear a harbinger sing, it is an omen. For this reason, they are treated with disdain and bitterness. Of course, when the bard named Jaskier meets a harbinger, he does not believe the tales; the only thing dangerous about her is her swordmanship, right? A beautiful warrior with an enchanting voice, an easily-infatuated bard... what could go wrong?
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Yennefer z Vengerbergu | Yennefer of Vengerberg, Jaskier | Dandelion/Reader
Comments: 2
Kudos: 19





	The Bard and The Blade

In the reflection of your blade, you saw it. The manticore you'd been hunting for the last month. Evasive bastard. Clever too. Not for much longer. It always managed to catch your scent a mile off and find some way to avoid you. That was until you found its den whilst it was hunting. The den had two entrances; a front and a back. You spent most of the day sweating in the sun as you blocked up the back entrance and thus its escape route. Arduous job, but such is the life of a harbinger. The den was dark, cracks of daylight spilled in through holes in the roof of the cave. It reeked of death and fresh blood. In the silver of your sword you saw the beast's tail first, flicking around a corner as it finished off what you swore would be the last victim. Sword raised ready for counterattacks, you crept silently towards it. Cacti and rust-red stone stacks would be the only witnesses out here in the middle of who knows where. Silent and ready to strike, you stepped lightly. 

You pounced. 

The sword came down hard against the manticore's spined tail as it retaliated. For a split second, the two of you made eye contact. E/c eyes with flecks of silvery white staring into blood-fuelled green monster eyes. Not unusual for you. 

In one fell swoop you were back in the battle. Sword against poisonous tail, talons against armour. You leapt over the manticore's tail when he swung it for your legs, rolling over and landing on one knee, blade at the ready. The manticore screeched and flicked its tail, launching toxic barbs your way. With expert grace you dodged all but one. It pricked your left shoulder and you hissed, ripping it out and discarding it as you screamed bloody murder, rushing the beast. It stood on its hind legs, raising it's huge lion body for a crushing blow. It jumped for you and at the last second you rolled over your shoulder under it, ignoring the searing pain from the barb's wound. Before the manticore could turn around, your blade was buried in the side of its stomach, slicing up to its throat. The creature keeled over. Dead. 

You slumped your shoulders. After little over a month, the job was done. No more humans would be devoured by this manticore. Aside from the throbbing ache in your shoulder, it was a success. You sheathed your silver sword over your right shoulder in the narrow x-shaped scabbard on your back. Beside the silver blade was a steel one; you tried not to use it. As you sheathed the weapon, you felt more blood ooze from the barb's puncture with a burn. Not good. Trust the manticore to hit the one spot where your lightweight chainmail sleeves met the leather of your pauldron; an opening. The hook of the barb was still inside. 

"Fuck..." You groaned as you stumbled to the edge of the manticore's lair, kicking the dead monster's leg as you passed. You grabbed a wall with your blood-streaked hand. Get back to camp. Camp will have alchemy supplies to heal the wound. 

"Stay awake," You scolded yourself as the world spun. "Stay... awake..." It was getting harder to do so. You could see the crudely-constructed little camp in the distance. Even your white tent... or three of them. And they were spinning. Your finely-attuned ears could just pick out the sound of someone singing. A horse trotting. A lute? Voices too. Were they coming this way? No more questions. You fell with a rather unceremonious thump. 

"You said you know her?"

"Not seen her in a year."

"And? You're not going to wait for her to wake up?"

"We're busy."

"And she might get eaten by one of your witchery-monstery friends!"

"Fine. But as soon as she's better, we leave." The blunt man said finally before heading off somewhere nearby. Soft lute music filled the air the conversation once occupied.

A witcher. Not the worst person who could have found you. At least it wasn't nearly as hot outside as it was earlier. No sun blistering heat and making the ground steam. As you tiredly came to, you saw the crescent moon peeking over the horizon as night began to fall. As you slowly sat up, you realized you were at your camp. A campfire was burning away next to you, someone was cooking the last of your rabbit meat rations, and your shoulder had been bandaged up. You were in your loose fern-green undershirt, the twine at the neck untied to allow the bandages room. The sleeves had been rolled up, through your fingers still had traces of blood on them where the fingerless fabric, metal and leather gauntlets didn't cover. You still had on your beige low-heeled hunting boots. They had been untouched and you knew this for a fact; they were laced not quite to the top and folded below your knee just how you liked. Your dark brown trousers that hung off you were tucked into the boots, belted at your waist. You noted that the serated dagger you kept there had been removed. A look to your left found the weapon next to your knapsack with your swords leaning against it.

"Morning," The man from opposite the campfire greeted. "Well, evening actually." He brushed his brown curls of hair aside and offered you a smile.

"Hi," You nodded, trying to get comfy on the thin roll-out mattress you had awoken on. "What happened? Who are you?" 

"Ah," He began, setting aside the lute he had absentmindedly been strumming. "Well, you see, my travel companion and I were passing by and saw you faint. I convinced him to help and we set you up here - assuming this is your camp, of course - and he used some fancy witcher potions to sort that hole in your shoulder."

Manticore. Poison. Passing out. Now you remembered. "Thank you. It was foolish of me to think I should kill a manticore without preparing for the worst." You ran a hand along your collarbone, feeling for bandages. What concerned you more was what you didn't feel. "Where's my medallion?"

The man, a bard you presumed, perked up and looked to his companion who was tending to a brown horse a little further away. He called, "Geralt!"

"Well string me up like Hanged Man's Alley and sell my soul to a witch," You shook your head as the white-haired, yellow-eyed witcher headed over with the typical brooding walk that witchers have. "Geralt of Rivia. Been a while."

"Always a pleasure," Geralt nodded, folding his arms. 

You bit the inside of your cheek, "That why I heard you and your friend debating whether or not to leave me?"

"He's not my friend. He's a bard."

You rolled your eyes, "Cold, though that's nothing new for you. Medallion please," You held out your hand. Geralt took the medallion from over his own neck where it sat beside his wolf medallion. He handed it over and you put it on over your head of h/c hair which was, at the start of the day, in a relatively neat braid with two smaller braids feeding into it, but now was in dire need of a comb. "I assume you wore it for safekeeping."

"Naturally." Geralt started back towards his horse. 

"Geralt!" You called. He turned briefly. "Thanks for helping me." The witcher offered you a nod and returned to his horse. 

"So," The bard resumed playing the lute. "Who might you be?"

"You first," You retorted, polishing a speckle of blood from the silver stag-head medallion.

He lowered his head, laughing slightly at your quickness. "Julian Alfred Pankratz. You can call me Jaskier."

You leaned back, hands behind you, and crossed one leg over the other comfortably, "Well, it's a pleasure to meet you, Jaskier. I'm Y/n."

"Lovely name," He smiled as he plucked his lute's strings. "Up for a song? Geralt isn't the singing type, and you seem like someone I'd love to sing with."

"I couldn't possibly," You shook your head insistently. "Really."

"Don't force her," Geralt added as he passed by us to check on the rabbit meat rations they'd taken it upon themselves to cook. "She's a harbinger."

"A pardon?" 

"Harbinger," You echoed. "Bearer of omens, bringer of devils, death on two feet?"

"Doesn't ring any bells."

Geralt patted you on your good shoulder, "He's a poorly-travelled bard, despite what he says. Might need to explain to him." He handed you a bowl of rabbit stew, leaving one beside Jaskier too. That seemingly took the bard by surprise. Geralt was not normally one of simple acts of kindness. The witcher returned to eat beside his horse - Roach, if you remembered the animal's name correctly from your last meeting with the monster hunter. 

Jaskier, for lack of silverware, brought the bowl to his lips and pressed, "So, harbinger?"

"Like witchers, we hunt monsters. We're just a lot better at singing than they are," You shot a joking glance at Geralt. "Our voices are sources of magic. People believe we create more problems than we solve because of that." You sipped from your bowl.

"Typical humans," Jaskier shrugged as he finished the stew. "I'd quite like to hear you sing. Come on." He gave you an encouraging smile.

You sighed. Hard offer to decline. "No magic involved I assume?"

"Not if you don't feel like it."

"Fine by me," You answered, swigging the last of the warm stew that made you feel ten times better than when you woke up. "I tend to use it in dire situations."

Jaskier beamed. A genuine happy smile. When was the last time you saw one of those aimed your way? He started a gentle tune on his lute. You recognised the song immediately. He raised his brows, "You know 'Far Beyond The Fields?'"

"Course," You crossed your legs, sitting up straight. On his count of three, you began your duet, "Far beyond the frosted fields ahead, where deer run by with thunder in their stead, lightning does follow them but they harbour no fear, far beyond the fields in the valley of the deer." You stifled a laugh behind a smile at Geralt lying down and rolling to face away from you two in exasperation. "Far beyond the misty fields we go, where glory and gold is all that we will know, we will not falter when faced with roaring storms, far beyond the fields our song will keep us warm..." Jaskier strummed softly to a pleasant halt as you trailed off. 

"Well, you were quite right about the voice thing. That was enchanting," Jaskier complimented, "Magical even."

"Thank you," You smiled. "Finally, someone who can appreciate music and doesn't think I'm trying to kill them when I sing."

"It'd be an honour to die like that."

You laughed as you stood up, "I'm sure not everyone agrees." Once you were up, you laced your shirt back up fully and offered, "Feel free to spend the night in my camp. Geralt can sod off with his 'we have to leave immediately' nonsense. What's mine is yours; take whatever supplies you want."

"That's very kind of you, Y/n. Thank you."

"Not a problem," You smiled as you unsheathed your silver sword and took a cloth from your knapsack, as well as a vial of oil. You began scrubbing the dried manticore blood from the blade as Jaskier mindlessly plucked his lute. You swiped oil across the weapon, shining and sharpening it.

Jaskier paused, looking up at you as you worked, "Why two swords?"

"Silver for monsters," You answered, sheathing the blade and removing the other one from the scabbard, "Steel for humans. Same as witchers." You started caring for the steel sword. Beautiful weapons. The steel one was sturdy and long-lasting with a twisted cross-guard that resembled an elven knot, blade gleaming orange in the fire light. The monster-slaying one had spines of silver that resembled deer antlers as a cross-guard, and a pommel that looked like an eye. Truly remarkable swords. 

Jaskier seemed uncertain, "You kill humans often?"

"If and when necessary." You saw him giving you an uneasy glance and you laughed, "You're traveling with the Butcher of Blaviken and your worried about being gutted like a fish? Don't overthink it."

Jaskier paused for a moment and blurted out, "Why even bother with a steel sword anyway? Pointy stabby things are all the same to humans when it's cutting off your head, right?"

You choked back a laugh, hanging your head and humming with a smile, "I suppose you're right. If you don't mind my asking, would I perhaps be able to join you and Geralt on your way to the next town? Perhaps it will give us the opportunity to duet again."

Jaskier nodded with an enthusiastic grin, "I look forward to it!" 

"Wonderful!" You said as you retreated back into your tent. "In that case, I shall see you in the morning. Goodnight, Jaskier. And thank you again."


End file.
